


A Vision in Firelight

by LyraNgalia



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Gen, Missing Scene, Parallelism is my weakness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:28:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22079215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LyraNgalia/pseuds/LyraNgalia
Summary: After the battle of Sodden Hill, an encounter with a mysterious woman leaves Yennefer with answers...and more questions.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 30
Kudos: 184





	A Vision in Firelight

**Author's Note:**

> A massive thank you to my favourite enablers (y'all know who you are) and the fact that you all fell into this dumpster fire with me. <3

She is chaos. She is magic. She is _fire_.

***

_Yennefer_.

The name was a whisper through the roar, the breath of winter through the inferno. It should not have called her back, should not have been able to cut through the chaos for which she had become a pure conduit. But it did. And with that one name, the chaos, the magic, the fire, and the rage that had become her entire existence winked away and Yennefer of Vengerberg snapped back into awareness, into a body exhausted, aching, her throat dry and a million hundred aches of war screaming for attention.

“No, easy easy,” the whisper came again, a soft voice in her sudden awareness, a balm on the heat-scorched skin of her body. “Don't move yet, Yennefer, I nearly lost you, and I still might.”

Her body was heavy, as if she had been clapped in irons and buried a mountain, and she struggled to open her eyes despite the mysterious voice's advice, but the motion only sent another stab of pain through her being, and she felt her entire body convulse in pain, a dry reedy rasp struggling free of her throat.

_Easy_. The voice came again, this time in her mind, and accompanying it an image, a blur of white and red that resolved into a stern face and gentle eyes, and a mane of red hair. A woman. She was completely unknown to Yennefer, a mage by her obvious telepathy, but not one she recognized from either her time at Aretuza or with the Brotherhood. But there was something about her that tugged at Yennefer's memory, something familiar that she could not place. That feeling only intensified when the woman's brow furrowed in concentration, and there was a touch like cooling water, like bubbling brooks and new leaves, against Yennefer's awareness, and the feeling of familiarity slipped away on the wave of healing magic. _Oh, child, no one should have pushed as far as you did._

The warmth of the woman's hand, or her mind, whatever it was, was the only thing in Yennefer's awareness that wasn't pain and smoke and aching emptiness, and she clung to it as if she would be swept away. And if the woman's words were any indication, perhaps she could be. _I'm not supposed to survive. I was their last cha--_ The memory of fire at her fingertips, scorching every fiber of her being as she poured her rage to feed its flames, rose unbidden and this time even in the fragile cocoon of her mind Yennefer could hear herself scream, feel the tenuous grip of her consciousness burn.

_NO._ Again the scent of new leaves, of fresh mown grass and fragrant apple blossom, along with the sound of bubbling brooks swept into her consciousness, and Yennefer felt the other woman's grip on her strengthen even as the fire threatened to consume her. _I found you for a reason, Yennefer. I need you to trust me. Take my hand, and let go of the fire._

_No I can't, I am their last chance, Tissaia, Triss--_ The grip on her tightened, and suddenly there was something else besides the roar of the inferno and the smell of growing things, something bright and cold and golden, a thread that held her tight, wove through her limbs. She was tired, too weak, too worn, to do anything but hang on, and Yennefer allowed the fire to slip from her fingers with a whimper. That had been Power, pure chaos and unadulterated Power, filling her being, and the loss of it tugged at her even as a part of her knew it would have consumed her. And as the fire faded, the golden light grew stronger, weaving itself tighter along her being.

The other woman's pale face looked startled, and the smell of flowers wavered. _You saved them, it's alright. You're not done here. Destiny has you yet, do you see it?_

_Destiny_. And perhaps it was her exhaustion, her weakness, or her absolutely tenuous grip on reality and the core of her being, but the word reverberated through Yennefer like a knell, bringing with it images and memories she buried deep. White hair tangled with black. Calloused hands digging deep at her hips. Safety. Satisfaction. Angry words. The sick bile of fear as she realized his wish. The faintest taste of wolfs-bane on her tongue. Guttural cries and soft lips. Tangled sheets and fading bruises. Crisp thin mountain air, and a rough murmur. _You're important to me._

_Oh_. The woman with red hair blinked in surprise, and her face immediately grew sad. Yennefer felt a hand (real? In her mind? She couldn't be certain) against her cheek, and with it the faint awareness of earth beneath her body, earth hot and scorched. _You're the other thread tied to him._ The woman bowed her head, and her hair fell across her face like a burnished copper curtain, but not before Yennefer caught a glimpse of the look in her eyes, the fathomless sorrow and something else she could not be certain of, but that teased at something... that same familiar feeling she'd lost earlier.

The woman, the healing mage, touched her again, and for a moment Yennefer could not breathe, so strong was the smell of green grass and the fragrance of apple blossoms, but it was only momentary, and as it faded she felt her body again, felt the bone weary ache, the fatigue, the smell of burnt grass and ash, felt the _pain_ of it all.

And from what seemed to be a great distance, a call, a thin childish voice screaming, “Yennefer!”

“ _Easy_.” This time Yennefer heard the voice both within and without, and she struggled to blink her eyes open even as she felt the hand on her chest stopping her from moving. “ _You're still badly hurt.”_ The smell of something sharp and stinging, a bottle at her parched lips. Yennefer drank instinctively, and felt the draught (potion?) slide down her throat. The motion was too much and she nearly gagged but the voice was in her mind again, soothing, even as she heard the sound of her name being called again, a deeper voice, a familiar voice.

“Yennefer!”

The mage with her looked up, clearly startled at the sound. _You're going to live, little firebird._ Yennefer noted wryly, in whatever part of her was able to feel anything beyond pain, that her mysterious visitor did not say she was going to be fine. Said mysterious visitor rose to her feet, ashes falling like snow from her skirts, and gave Yennefer another look before backing away, and Yennefer felt herself fade, felt exhaustion creeping back, the darkness beginning to encroach on her vision. _It's real, little firebird. What you feel._ He's _real. Don't ever think otherwise. “Sleep.”_

From a far distance, the voice again, the familiar one, rough and edging with something like panic. “Yennefer? Yennefer!”

Her rescuer mage hesitated, and another flash of thought ran through Yennefer's mind. _And there's hope yet, for what you are looking for._ But before she could ask, could even form the question, the woman with red hair was gone, and all Yennefer could do was turn her head towards the sound of her name. But even that motion proved too much. With something like a whimper or a cry, Yennefer of Vengerberg let the blackness claim her and knew no more.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, feedback is welcome. And if anyone needs me, I'll be buried in the books until Season 2.


End file.
